LJi Day 1 A.E. (After Elimination): Influences
This post, I've been meaning to make for weeks now. I kept getting delayed in writing it by pressing deadlines and losing myself in a fleeting fantasy world that didn't seem to mesh well with Live Journal Idol readers. My bad, I suppose; I now know to shelve that idea for further development with about fifty other book ideas. Coincidentally, the new topic is "Bringing a Knife to a Gun Fight" the day as I get eliminated. Let me tell you; that is what "Eldrid Unne: Compulsion" was for me. I simply brought a melting, moonwalking knife painted in bright colors to a hardcore Mexican standoff. I fought the tribes and the tribes won. I fought the tribes and the...tribes won!
As I prepare to hit the home game with a vengeance and work on other works and writing, I'd like to take a few minutes to discuss some of my biggest influences. Surprise, surprise, they are mostly musical and a lot of my biggest influences are songwriters. So, let's get started, hmm?
Click to viewEscape Artist by Sage Francis (Click for Audio!)
The Lyrics:
When I first got in to magic, yeah...
When I first got into magic, it was an underground phenomenon
Now everybody's like "pick a card, any card..."
If I shot my full load with the first hand I played
I'd be a monkey in a box hangin' with the David Blaines
I'd be swimmin' with the sharks, mouths full of razor blades
But I'm not; I got out of that game - Escape Artist
I talk 'til I'm red in my face with strain polyps
I'll rock 'til I'm out of my range then raise octaves; I...
play through the pain and remain conscious
Refraining from commenting on the lame compliments
And the petty criticisms from those who ain't accomplished
Even one-fifths of some of this shit I made progress with
I'm leaving naysayers stumped like rain forests
After years of pullin' rabbit ears out my pants pockets
I'm not revealin' any tricks of the trade
It's just there ain't no magic in the breakdown, baby
In an effort to make 'em all see what I found in my life, I decided to give 'em a look
None of 'em gave it a glimpse and I guess that I'm sitting in the middle of an unread book
Letters are falling apart but the sentences stand on their own and the wording is permanent
Never been missed, I've just been misworded and misinterpreted; it's...
Funny how serving a sentence of solitary confinement
Results in the death sentences filling my writing assignment
I'm just wondering where my time went; it pulled a disappearing act
And every single assistant I ever had got sawed in half
You see, I never payed attention
But I can't afford to laugh
'Cause I'm lookin' for my break and an autograph for my cast
But I'm short on staff so all I ask is volunteers in the crowd
Show a little bit of audience participation now
When I say hip... what do I say?
You, you say "shut the fuck up we ain't sayin shit!!!"
And I'll respect it
Check it,
Got a flair for the dramatic exit
A fashionable entrance
Late to my own arraignment, Oh!
The self-destructive things that I do for entertainment
My folks gave me this art; your broken heart is my pallet
While I was out honing my craft, you was disowning your talent
That's why you still live at home and I bought this house off my parents
I'm getting ahead of myself, gettin ahead of myself
I see the hair on my back, see the hair on my back
I'm "On The Road" reading Kerouac
It's poems versus better raps
I think to myself
What's worth remembering
Verses defending the size of my manhood or confessional canned goods?
In an effort to make 'em all see what I found in my life, I decided to give 'em a look
None of 'em gave it a glimpse and I guess that I'm sitting in the middle of an unread book
Letters are falling apart but the sentences stand on their own and the wording is permanent
Never been missed, I've just been misworded and misinterpreted; it's...
Funny how serving a sentence of solitary confinement
Results in the death sentences filling my writing assignment
But none of this is getting told in confidence I reckon
I spin confidential records just to hold the listener's attention
I'm a veteran of spatial relationships
I clip ya wings to fit you in, head-shrinking magician
Shape-shifting reptilian turned body contortionist
Orphanages started offering torches to abortion clinics
I lost acquaintances in a morgue of lady friends
I gender bent the heaven-sent angelic devil-boy, and God's androgynous
I'm lookin' marvelous but looks CAN kill
And you're unsure about my sexual orientation still
Put me in a special kind of case that only breaks if
You hit it with a bouquet of flowers and baby breath arrangement
The vault is vacant
They're all looking for fault or blame
I called my agent
The moment that I caught the train
I let him know I'm going nowhere, and he's invited
If he leaves tonight then he just might help me find it
But this is my burden to bear, not his
And I'm a psychic without a sidekick holding the future hostage
A loose cannon standing on the rooftop with
A new respect and understanding of bartenders and locksmiths
They call me daredevil but I'm not precise enough
Unprofessional on an amateur level, I love my life too much
Escape Artist...Escape Artist...Escape Artist...Escape Artist...Escape Artist...
I'm in two places at once
Escape Artist
I ain't slept in months
Escape Artist
I'm just trying to get away
Ain't no magic in the breakdown baby
[Ain't no magic in the breakdown baby
No magic in the break
Ain't no magic in the breakdown ba-by
Escape Artist
Sage Francis: Pussies, you're scared to shoot me in the heart!
You know it's too big, uhh!
Fuck, I gotta bulletproof heart, hit me baby.
I'll never fall in love with you, ever!
If you got heart, so I do! Bitch!
Slug: Make some noise for Sage Francis, ya'll!
Synopsis: One part poet, one part street preacher, Sage Francis is arguably the most relevant man working in rap today. With nods from the likes of the great Chuck D of Public Enemy, Sage Francis has dominated underground hiphop and poetry slams since his debut a decade ago. "Escape Artist" epitomizes his anti-swagger attitude of humbleness that isn't out for bling or to impress anyone. Like his hero, Jack Kerouac, he lets the rhymes speak. In that respect, this song is very personal to him. To me, it is very expressive as I've always dared to be different at the expense of it being alienating. READ: Eldrid Unne: Compulsion.
Old Friend by Warren Haynes (Click for Audio!)
The Lyrics:
'Come a hard wind, howlin' down, blowin' my soul
Gonna be a hard wind, howlin' down, blowin' my soul
Well I ain't an old man, oh but you know my time ain't long
Be a hard rain - hear it in the distance, sounds so near
Be a hard rain - hear it in the distance, sounds so near
People, when the rain comes, oh it's gonna wash us all away from here
Mean old woman, people won't you tell me where can she be
Mean old woman, oh people won't you tell me where can she be
She's the only woman, oh that ever meant a damn to me
Said, hard times, just an old friend, just an old friend to me
Said, hard times, just an old friend, just an old friend to me
Tell me now old friend, oh when you gonna let me be?
Tell me now old friend, when you gonna let me be?
Tell me now old friend, when you gonna let, this poor man be?
Synopsis: This song originally appeared on The Allman Brothers' "Hittin' The Note" album, written by this man, Warren Haynes. If you are late to the party of musicology, let me educate you. All modern music shares three roots; delta blues, gospel music (which intermixes with blues when you get into African-American spirituals), and bluegrass (which intermixes with gospel). Warren Haynes is hip to this, as this song is about as true to the idea of delta blues as one can get today. These minimalistic lyrics express a raw emotion that is so moving to me. You get that that the narrative is a man who has survived by the skin of his teeth and knows now that the one thing he cares about is his old flame even though he defines his life by strife. This is powerful stuff indeed. It feeds from the source of music and poetry, and it's the human condition at the very mouth of it's voice; moving as can be.
Bonfire by Childish Gambino (Click for Audio!)
The Lyrics:
Okay, it's Childish Gambino; homegirl, drop it like the NASDAQ
Move white girls like there's coke up my asscrack
Move black girls 'cause, man, fuck it, I'll do either
I love pussy; I love bitches; dude, I should be runnin' PETA
In Adidas, with some short shorts; B-O-O all over me
My green is where it's supposed to be; your green is in my grocery
This Asian dude, I stole his girl, and now he got that Kogi (Kobe) beef
My dick is like an accent mark; it's all about the over E's
Hot like a parked car
I sound weird like nigga with hard R
Fly like the logo on my cousin's 440
Eatin' Oreos like these white girls that blow me
Vodka for my ladies; whiskey for a grown man
Hangin' in the islands, lookin' for Earl like Toejam
I made the beat retarded, so I'm callin' it a slow jam
Butcher and I know it, man; kill beef, go ham
These rappers are afraid of him
Cause I'm a beast, bitch, Grrr; Invader Zim
Gambino is a call girl; "fuck you, pay me!"
Brand new whip for these niggas like slavery
They told me I was awful and that shit did not phase me
Tell me how I suck again, my memory is hazy
"You're my favorite rapper now." Yeah, dude, I better be
Or you can fuckin' kiss my ass; Human Centipede
You wanna see my girl? I ain't that dumb
You wanna see my girl? Check Maxim
"Man, why does every black actor gotta rap some?"
I don't know; all I know is I'm the best one
It's a bonfire; turn the lights out
I'm burnin' everything you muthafuckas talk about
It's a bonfire; turn the lights out
I'm burnin' everything you muthafuckas talk about
You know these rapper dudes talk shit; start killin'
Fuck that, got goons like an arch-villain
I'm from the South, ain't got no accent; don't know why
So this rap is child's play; I do my name like Princess Di
Yeah, they say they want the realness; rap about my real life
Told me I should just quit: "first of all, you talk white!
Second off, you talk like you haven't given up yet"
Rap's stepfather; yeah, you hate me but you will respect
I put in work; ask Ludwig
Put my soul on the track like shoes did
Played this for my cousin, now he can't even think straight
"Black and white music? Now, nigga, that's a mixtape!"
Shoutout to my blerds; they represent the realness
Shoutout to Gambino, girls; my dick is in the building
I know you hate me cause your little cousin play me OUT
I like black girls who nerdy, but when they dance they be sayin' "Owww"
I'm sorry for who followed me
Chillin' with a Filipina, at your local Jollibee
Yeah; I'm in her ass like sodomy
So if you see my hand under the table, don't bother me
I don't talk soft, that's that other guy
I'm screamin "What the fuck is up? " like I ain't seen the sky
And shit I'm doin' this year? Insanity
Made the beat then murdered it; Casey Anthony!
These rappers don't know what to do
'Cause all I did was act-me like a Looney Tune
And I'll give you all of me until there's nothing left
I swear this summer will be summer camp...bitch!
Synopsis: This seems like a traditional chauvinistic, offensive rap song, but to anyone that hung on this far, let me translate it for you: "I know where I came from and I'm not going anywhere. Rejoice all. I'm writing this for everyone, no matter who they are. I look different and people don't like it; I don't care. I know I have what it takes; do you? Confidence in who you are will get you everywhere, but I'm quite aware of how much of a facade that can be. I'm not like everyone else. I don't sound like everyone else. I'm not trying to be everyone else, but I'm completely confident in who I am anyway. 'Cool' is in the mind. Being what people want me to be is only skin deep. I'm still doing this, my labor of love, for those that love it; trust me, I'm going to give it my all because I won't be happy unless I do. The naysayers are afraid that a man who came into rhyming this late can do this better than those stuck in their cliches and gimmicks. And if they don't like it? Fuck'em. I do this for me. And I'm secure in that. But I'm not going down without a fight. They've told me I was terrible but I kept writing anyway; more fuel for the fire that was lit under my ass. Now, people are telling me how good I am, which is cool. To everyone else? Believe what you want. As for everything else, I'm not quite sure what I want; women, money, houses, bling, models, etc., etc.. But now? I could get them, and I sort of delight in the fact that makes everyone who has ever downed me just a little bit sick. Some people ask me why I do this; I do it because I'm good at it. Have fun, people; I am, as I unwind and unravel all these ideas people got wrong about me. Most others? All talk. I have people who talk for me now, because I'm more sophisticated than that. They wanted something real, told me I should quit; I didn't, and I gave them my story. They will have to learn to respect that, no questions asked. Why? Because I work hard. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this music and it shows. So, to all those that always believed in me, and all those girls who know me now, I'm here. Hate me a little bit. Go on. Do it. I love it. That's called jealousy. ...Yeah, I guess that's conceited. I can be down to Earth too; the boasting just comes with the territory. That's because, in my experience, you have to shout at the top of your lungs to be heard! And this year was a blast, thanks to my followers and fans. You haven't heard the last from me."
And OMG is that a fucked up rap video. It's pretty much a modernist expression in it's own right that you won't find in chart topping rappers alone.
"Why does every white role player gotta write some? I unno, all I know is I'm the best one!"
YOU HEAR ME TALKING, JIM BUTCHER!?! I'M COMING FOR YOU, MOTHERFUCKER! HARRY DRESDEN, MY HONKY ASS!
Final Statement: Well, that was just a brief exploration of three of my influences of a lot of my past entries and the stuff I like to listen to while writing. I'm also taking this moment to say something else: I've quit drinking as of this writing and will remain sober for the remainder of Season 8's home game in Live Journal Idol. Since December, I've picked up quite an appetite for certain brands of alcohol and I wouldn't doubt that affected my preformance in my last six rounds or so of Live Journal Idol. I've definitely haven't campaigned like I once did for votes which dropped me lower and lower in the poles. But people have had nothing but nice things to say, so I say this without a shred of ego: thank you, one and all, my readers, for providing me with the confidence to persue an 18 year long dream of possibly becoming a serious full-time writer. Who knows where this crazy path will lead me? I sure don't.